


call it quits (call it destiny)

by llien



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Alternate Universe - After College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Depression, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Pining, Radio Host Sora, Self-Indulgent, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2020-03-05 12:30:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18828733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/llien/pseuds/llien
Summary: Reliable as always, the radio clicked on. He dropped the remote soundlessly back onto his couch, and began to flick through his mail, the beginnings of a soothing familiar tune spreading to make his apartment feel just that much cozier.The song wound to its end, and Riku heard the tiniest intake of breath.“Good evening, Daybreak Town,”Sora said, voice as soothing as ever. Riku didn’t realize he’d stopped moving until he caught a flicker of lightning, jolting him. Moments later thunder rumbled, and Sora laughed.“Another rainy night, huh?”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is an embarrassing au. It's pure indulgence. With that out of the way, I'm just really enamored with the idea of midnight radio shows and Riku listening to them. I feel like that hour, accompanied with soft music and the comfort of existing as yourself with no one around to define you, can be at once mundane but sweet. 
> 
> “He says my name / and the whole sky is talking.”  
> -Caitlyn Siehl

Riku dropped his things with a gusty sigh, toeing off his shoes at the entrance and methodically unwinding all his trappings to deposit on the side-table. He swooped down to pick up the mail deposited sometime while he’d been out, curiously tabbing through them as he cleared his foyer to enter his home proper.

 _Home_ was a romantic notion Riku used ironically and carelessly. It was little better than an apartment his parents paid for, furnished neatly and stylistically. They’d even hired a _designer,_ like a college student needed one when he spent more time out of the place than in. But, surprising everyone including himself, all of Riku’s wanderlust had died sometime between his third and fourth summer traveling everywhere he could, traipsing down any town and city where no one knew his name beyond that he had a pretty face.

So here he was, five years later in the same city that rained too much and had too-long winters and _much_ too-humid summers, graduate school kicking him behind the knees mercilessly and Keurig thoroughly abused.

It was ironic, really, and the one reason, the sole, single, complete and utter reason Riku could ever think of when he was asked why he stayed was not that he had settled, or he’d actually honest-to-God made friends he connected with, or even that his apartment had _become_ a ‘home.’

It was something mortifying, and he’d never in a million years confess it, no matter how drunk he’d get — and even the devil wasn’t as hellbent on getting this secret out as his friends were.

Like clockwork, Riku padded into his living room, taking a moment to admire the large floor-ceiling windows that took up one wall of the industrial-complex. Riku hadn’t talked to his parents in maybe a month or two, but now that he’d been here three years, he could appreciate the effort they’d put forth to ensure his comfort.

The rain beat rhythmically, soothing. It coated the window pains in sluggish lines, obscuring the city lights into a haze of smeared fireworks. If he was honest, which he rarely was, Riku loved the view. It sure beat staring dead-eyed at the off-white plaster of a dorm room.

He sat with a grunt into his stylistically beat sofa, stretching his legs onto the coffee table and idly fishing around for the remote he knew was somewhere buried into the cushions. Other than the rain, his apartment was dead silent, no roommate to speak of or even a pet. They tried to give him fish once, citing worry, but it’d driven Riku up the wall to see any living thing caged like that and he’d found a nice pond to set them free in.

Besides, Riku liked his privacy and solitude. He liked waking up early, percolating coffee spreading enticingly through his place. Liked the cool touch of dark wood under his bare feet in the morning, the way the windows were always fogged with condensation, the easy routine of watering plants and righting anything that somehow wasn’t in its proper place.

What he liked most of all was sitting in his living room at midnight, flicking the stereo system he’d insisted on to the station he had memorized, and settling to sort through mail or notifications or browsing lazily on his laptop.

And, reliable as always, the radio clicked on, he dropped the remote soundlessly back onto his couch, and began to flick through his mail, the beginning’s of a soothing familiar tune spreading to make his apartment feel just that much cozier.

The song wound to its end, and Riku heard the tiniest intake of breath.

 _“Good evening, Daybreak Town,”_ Sora said, voice as soothing as ever. Riku didn’t realize he’d stopped moving until he caught a flicker of lightning, jolting him. Moments later thunder rumbled, and Sora laughed. _“Another rainy night, huh?”_ It felt pleasantly as if they were in the same room, and though Riku was far from socially isolated now, listening to the radio while the rain steadily kept up had become a pastime, even though after a few weeks it was enough rain to drive anyone irritable.

It was a nice accompaniment to Sora’s voice though, so Riku didn’t mind, cocooned and warm and in his apartment. With a sigh he sunk into the cushions, eyes slipping unwittingly closed. He’d only flicked on a few lights, room dimly lit with lightning occasionally flaring bright. Sometimes when he told a particularly exciting story, Sora’s voice would rise, climbing to a natural cadence that Riku figured was his normal voice. For the most part, Sora spoke like he was swapping secrets, not a whisper but pitched for just you alone to hear. Whenever he reenacted some scenario, he’d drastically change to mimic whoever, an amusing and simultaneously impressive feat.

Sora went through the usual greetings and introductions as Riku tilted his head back to rest on the cushion, tension melting away. He could fall asleep like this, and in fact had on multiple occasions, but he hadn’t dressed down yet. Besides, he wanted to listen a little longer. Sora read aloud a brief quote, stating the theme for today’s talk, and then told a short story revolving it. Finally, he segued into one of Riku’s favorite segments.

_“We’ve got a ton of postcards this time! I remember when I first pitched the idea they — the suits I mean, and by suits I mean my friends who started this show — they said ‘no one’s gonna send postcards Sora,’ and I said watch. We have to match the theme, right? Let’s see who we have today…”_

Reminded of his own still unchecked mail, Riku roused himself to finish thumbing through it. The very last one was a card, surprisingly, addressed to him in sloppy handwriting with an equally horrendously written return address. It was the size of a stout card, no way capable of storing a letter. Curious, Riku tossed the junk mail on the coffee table and slid his thumb under the Disney sticker, a familiar design but one he couldn’t name at the moment.

 _“Something weird,”_ Sora read aloud, and Riku froze.

_“I left my hometown for college and never felt more free. Except, for some weird reason, I can’t seem to make myself leave here now that I graduated. It’s not like I want to stay, but it’s not like I have anywhere I want to go either. In a city this big, being restless is weird, but here I am._

_Listening to you always helps me figure things out, so I guess I wonder what you have to say on this?”_

Oh God, Riku thought, heart hammering as Sora so easily read the letter. Oh _fuck._ He hadn’t thought it’d make it on the show, had figured they got hundreds of postcards and surely wouldn’t pick his inane one. He’d sent it for that exact reason, so it _wouldn’t_ get picked.

 _“It really does sound weird,”_ Sora commented with a light laugh, and Riku flushed, staring wide-eyed at the radio as if he could somehow see Sora there and maybe convince him with a glare to stop talking now, or somehow transit his thoughts via radio waves. _“If you’re feeling restless, maybe you should try something new?”_

 _No,_ Riku thought, _I did and look what that got me!_

_“Something different from studying or school or work. Maybe a new hobby, or a completely different social scene! You never know who’ll you meet and what you’ll like until you try it, right? Maybe the question you should ask isn’t ‘why don’t I want to leave’ and more ‘what am I looking for?’”_

That drew Riku up short. What am I looking for? What _am_ I looking for?

He genuinely didn’t have an answer.

 _“I hope that helps some, and if not, feel free to send another card saying so,”_ Sora laughed, good-natured. _“Up next, we have a band I really like.”_ He cued into a short introduction, and the strains of a song crept up. Riku sat rock-still.

Sora had read his card. _Sora_ had read _his_ card. Aloud. On the radio. What he had not told anyone else, he’d written on a postcard of his hometown, sent it to a station with the comfort that a total stranger, like an intern, would read it and dismiss it, and been content with that. But for some reason, they’d picked his. And now what no one else knew about Riku, Sora did (conveniently ignoring the entire audience the show broadcasted for).

Like a hot shower slowly fogging a mirror, heat crept up Riku’s cheeks, cascading into a full-body flush. He didn’t even know why he was so mortified or affected. His name wasn’t on that card, he’d only sent it on a whim, slogging through another textbook in a cafe and toying with the postcard-cum-bookmark he’d lazily stuck in between the pages at some point.

He cupped his face into his hands, almost positive he could hear sizzling. Maybe if he stayed like this he’d turn into steam too and disappear?

Riku groaned and flopped sideways onto the couch, burying his face. _It really does sound weird,_ Sora had said. It was weird, wasn’t it? Riku had said so himself, thought so himself. Hell, he’d _titled_ the card that. Why was he so caught up on Sora agreeing?

“It’s official,” Riku said to no one in particular. “I’ve really got to get out of this place.”

It made sense to him, in a roundabout kind of way. Giving one more good exaggerated groan, Riku lifted off the couch to stumble to his bedroom to at least change into something more comfortable before the music ended.

By the time he was dressed down to pair of worn-soft sweats and thin t-shirt, the song was barely coming to its end. Disgruntled, Riku sat back down and picked up the card he’d momentarily forgotten, idly listening to Sora start on another written problem.

_“We were friends, but…”_

Riku lifted the Disney sticker off from where it’d eagerly re-attached, deftly removing what turned out to actually be two cards tucked in. One was a blank postcard, the design on the other side featuring a skyline Riku didn’t quite recognize, though it felt familiar. The other was a proper card, and Riku blinked as blue eyes arrested his gaze.

It was Sora, he was positive. He was sitting on a stool, feet braced on two different rungs as he balanced himself with one hand on the seat between his legs. He was grinning at the camera, the other hand loosely trailing across a mix of dials and other radio-type machinery. Behind him was a darkened window, and he looked as if caught in the moment before or after a laugh, incredibly charming with boyish ease. He had vivid blue eyes, the likes of which Riku had never seen, enough to make him wonder if they’d been touched up. His hair was a veritable wind-swept disaster, chocolate-y dark with an impressive amount of volume. Riku couldn’t help gliding his finger over the smooth arc of Sora’s freckles.

Riku had seen Sora before, when he’d navigated their site hoping to catch a backlog of episodes after he’d missed one. Under a tab labeled _who are we_ was a list of all the crew members, and there’d been a different photo of Sora, one even more casual, as if taken by a friend. With stubborn denial, Riku refused to recall how long he’d lingered there, mouse hovering over Sora’s photo.

In the bottom right corner was a messy signature in gold ink, probably done with a Sharpie, and Riku opened the card.

> _Hey!_
> 
> _Thanks for sending in a postcard! It’ll be on the show on the 5th, so check it out if you’d like an answer._

Then, less formal:

> _I hope it helps you, and if not, here’s another card. I think I get what you mean, wanting to leave but with nowhere to go._

Beneath that was the same slapdash signature, topped with a smiley in the middle of the ‘o’.

And, like an afterthought:

> _P.S. I don’t think it’s really weird._

Riku sat there staring long enough that Sora’s show began to end. Had an hour really passed so quickly? Suddenly Riku dropped both onto the table, leaping up to pace. What the fuck? _What_ the fuck?

What had been a year long casual listen turned into something real, something tangible. Sora knew Riku, knew he existed in some distant vague concept. Had written his address messily onto an envelope, written his _name,_ and connected with him.

“Oh my god,” Riku said aloud. “What’s wrong with you?” Seriously? Getting flustered over Sora writing his dumb name? This wasn’t middle school! “Clearly you got way too attached,” Riku said, long legs taking him from one brick wall to the other. “He probably writes everyone individual replies, he seems like the kind of nice guy who’d do that. It’s nothing special.”

And then he groaned, squatting down to cradle his face in his hands. Even he knew he’d lost the battle the moment he’d had to defend it.

 _“Good night, and until tomorrow,”_ Sora cheerfully said.

It took more self-control than should truly be necessary for Riku not to say it back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Definitely don't anticipate all chapters being uploaded this quickly. Like I said, this is pure indulgence, which makes it easier to write. 
> 
> "Heart Station" was a name courtesy of Bell, and it was so unbelievably perfect I had to keep it. 
> 
> “But the fall—the falling / of it / even after it’s done—”  
> -Jorie Graham

Riku was scowling, nursing a extra-strong coffee as he sat. It was an impressive scowl to be sure, all glowering and made worse by the strength of his glare, like he was trying to focus the sun through a magnifying glass. Riku had found it incredibly effective at warding off everyone else but Roxas.

He honestly couldn’t say why they were friends, or how they’d become friends, especially when their initial encounter had gone down in literal flames and the loss of half of Riku’s hair, something he was still sore over. But, if Riku had a problem stuck in his own head, Roxas was the only one he trusted to ruthlessly and pragmatically drag it out.

“So?” Roxas queried, blond hair fetching in the morning sunlight as he purposefully sat with his back to the window. It was such a shame he was so pretty, what with the awful permanent glare. “You know, I can totally tell what you’re thinking, asshole.”

Riku scoffed, leaning back in the wooden chair. It was _their_ cafe, accidentally so when they’d discovered they both frequented it. Roxas had worked there for a stint, though being in his last year of undergrad he’d chosen to focus more on school and had quit. “Shouldn’t you be flattered instead?”

“Uh, no?” Roxas looked genuinely appalled. “Coming from you? I’d rather be ugly as sin.”

That made Riku snort to cover up a loud laugh, easing up on the gloomy cloud he’d walked in with. It was actually sunny outside, rare for this time of year, and Riku had opted for a simple jacket rather than the perpetual raincoat that was more necessity than luxury in Daybreak. The island the city claimed home to was always battered by wind or rain or some horrendous combo of the two. The windmills made for fantastic tourism spots and was, admittedly, great for ecological reasons, but damn did Riku get tired of his hair doing its best to mimic a cockatiel’s.

“You didn’t drag me here at ass o’clock in the morning — _knowing_ I barely fell asleep, like, four hours ago — just to shoot the breeze,” Roxas said, in what was more of a warning than a declaration. Riku slept poorly out of consequence, but Roxas, as a programmer, simply never slept at all.

Riku lifted his cup and pointed with a forefinger to Roxas’ own drink. “I bought you that just so you wouldn’t bitch, so drink up.”

Roxas grumbled but grabbed it nonetheless, painted nails stark against the white cup. Despite his claims, Roxas was still more put together than not, most likely used to little sleep. Or maybe he’d fallen into bed with all his rings and necklaces still on. Loathe as he was to admit it, Roxas wore half-asleep grunge well.

Cafe chatter filled the silence as Roxas took deep drags, inhaling caffeine. The tall counter was piled high with glass jars of candies, shelves of baked goods, and dangling chalkboards that were perpetually in danger of their contents being wiped off by unsuspecting customers. From this angle Riku couldn’t see the workers, but he could hear their faux-pep chatter as customers ranged from gritty-sleepiness to polite attempts at conversation.

When Roxas sighed with contentment, Riku dragged his attention back to him, steeling himself for what he knew would become a horrible conversation.

“Okay, I’ll tell you, but you _can’t_ laugh,” Riku warned. “If you laugh, I’m seriously walking out.”

Roxas gave him a deeply unimpressed look. Bastard cat look alike.

“Riku, if you’re trying to tell a joke, just know I never find you funny,” Roxas said soothingly.

“Asshole,” Riku quipped, cordial. “It’s not a joke, and I can’t tell the others because, well. Because.”

“Because…?”

_“Because.”_

Roxas deeply sighed, slouching in his wicker chair low enough that his knees jammed painfully and most likely purposefully into Riku’s. After he was sure his bony knee had bruised Riku, Roxas drew it up to surely crush his organs in his stomach, sitting like that with a foot in the seat. “Riku, you make mountains out of hills more than my cousin, and that’s _saying_ something.”

Roxas had mentioned his cousin a handful of times, but more offhand than not, and when anyone curiously asked after it, he’d clammed up faster than a parent ignoring a child’s pleas for candy at the check-out. Roxas was fiercely private of everything, which Riku could grudgingly relate to.

“It’s…” Riku hesitated, glancing around. They were regulars _and_ Roxas had worked there, meaning the staff knew them both by name, plus the usual influx of customers at this time. But this early meant most were only interested in getting a drink and rushing out, making Riku and Roxas one of the few patrons sitting in the back corner. It was an eclectic place to be sure, more homey and clearly struggling, with mismatched furniture and a large mirror taking up the entire back wall. “It’s embarrassing,” he admitted.

“Riku,” Roxas said flatly, before taking a long dramatic sip that surely burnt his tongue, “everything you do is embarrassing.”

He rolled his eyes, knowing that wasn’t true. “I’m serious,” Riku muttered.

“Alright, alright, fine,” Roxas sighed gustily, shifting more. The other knee jamming into Riku disappeared, probably crossed into the chair since it didn’t appear above the table. Roxas cradled the drink in both hands, blinking his eyes harshly. He was probably genuinely still sleepy, Riku thought, feeling touched. All of sudden, his panic seemed terribly blown out of proportion. “I won’t laugh. What is it?”

Riku took in a deep breath, settling his nerves. “So… do you know that radio show? H-heart Station?” He squeezed his eyes shut, momentarily feeling heat flood his cheeks that he’d _stuttered_ of all things. He opened them to find Roxas giving him a strange look.

“Yeah?” He said slowly, taking more reluctant sips. “What about it?”

“Well, I really like it.” Riku began. Why was this so hard to say? “You know the postcard segment they have?”

Roxas slowly nodded.

Riku couldn’t take the nervous energy anymore, placing his cup down to trace the wooden designs in the tabletop. “So I… sent a postcard.”

Roxas stifled a sound, and after a beat when he didn’t say anything, Riku continued.

“And they read it. Sora. He read it.”

He stopped, biting his lip, and then looked up. Roxas was staring at him blankly, still wearing that same dead unimpressed look. “Okay?” Roxas tried, clearly implying that there better be more to this story than just that, because it was definitely not worth having woken up this early for it. The threat was enough to spur Riku on, because Roxas had and was definitely willing to cut off the rest of his hair.

“And I kinda realized,” oh God was he squeaking? That was _not_ a squeak, “that I have. That I’m interested. In him. In Sora.” He closed his eyes. This was infinitely more mortifying than he could’ve ever thought.

Roxas was silent for a long moment, and when Riku worked up the courage to open his eyes, he found him horribly red in the face. At first it looked like anger, then it looked like embarrassment, and then Riku realized he was holding his breath and rapidly turning a worse color.

“What the hell are you doing?” Riku demanded, panic momentarily discarded.

Roxas exhaled heavily, enough that his breath hit Riku and he wrinkled his nose out of reflex. Taking another gasp, Roxas dug his knuckles into his mouth, lips twitching.

Riku stared. He was _laughing._

“Asshole,” he hissed. “I _told_ you not to laugh!”

 _“I’m trying!”_ Roxas said, voice rising plaintively. His mouth was moving in weird shapes. “Riku, you don’t know how much this hurts right now, oh my god.”

Scowling fiercely, Riku stood, making good on his word, but Roxas’ foot flashed like lightning to kick Riku’s chair before he could leave the table, caging him in. “Sit down drama queen, I _didn’t_ laugh. I should get a medal for that, holy shit.”

Riku glared down at Roxas leg, knowing he could easily clear it with little difficulty, but also knowing he’d come to talk to Roxas for a reason. Gritting his teeth, Riku sat down.

Roxas dropped his forehead to the table, shoulders shaking, but eventually he looked up, chin resting on the wood with a genuine grin he rarely gave Riku. “Seriously? All jokes aside? Riku this is _cute.”_

“No it’s not,” Riku mumbled, crossing his arms, soft leather jacket stretching snug.

“It is,” Roxas reiterated, lifting one hand to wave lazily, eyes glittering. “Your _postcard_ got read on the radio and you called me here to...what? Tell me about it? Because you have a _crush?_ It’s incredibly cute. I think this is the first time I’ve ever enjoyed breathing the same air as you.” He snickered, a very scrunched looking expression with his round cheeks.

“I said no laughing,” Riku grumbled, slouching further and furtively digging his chin into his collar.

“Alright, alright,” he eased up, eyes still crinkled with mirth. “Wow, that really woke me up. Or maybe this finally hit,” he grabbed his cup, tilting it down dangerously low to try and peer into it while still keeping is chin on the table. He ran his hand through his hair, then brought his arm up to rest his cheek on it. “So? What do you plan on doing about it?”

Riku hesitated, taking in the cozy overly crowded store. There was hardly walking room, certainly a fire hazard, and the plants everywhere were just shy of claustrophobia inducing. He’d liked coming here, because he felt as if he were swallowed by its chaos, able to step outside of himself. He wondered if Roxas liked it for the same reasons. Or maybe the drinks were just good. Stalling, Riku took a sip of his still warm cup.

Roxas waited patiently, watching Riku with little shame. _Cat._

“I don’t know,” Riku admitted. “Part of the reason it… got to me so much was because it made me think of something I’d never considered. I don’t know why I am here, or what I want. I sent that card for a reason,” Riku said pointedly.

“Right, right, the whole counseling thing,” Roxas yawned, turning his head to muffle it into his arm briefly. He rubbed at his eye. “Did it help?”

“Kind of,” Riku traced the rim of his cup, thinking back on the sleepless night spent wondering that question. _What am I looking for?_ “I don’t know the answer yet.”

Roxas hummed in response, eyes slipping close. Riku let him, lost in thought. College had been equal parts thrilling and unbearable, a whirlwind of identity discovery, traipsing through unknown locales, a soul defeating litany of assignments, and the rush of pride when he finally graduated. Now in graduate school, Riku found it equal parts easier and harder, and all around… dissatisfying.

“So?” Roxas said, voice so alert that it startled Riku, who’d assumed he’d fallen asleep. Roxas’ eyes were still closed, but he seemed awake.

“I don’t know,” Riku groaned, finishing off his drink and grimacing at the bitter dregs. He shoved it on the table, a loud clatter of ceramic swallowed by the morning rush still ongoing. “He— _they_ sent another card, in case I had anything else to say…”

Roxas hummed non-committedly, but still replied, “Don’t you?”

_Do I?_

“I guess so,” Riku allowed. He didn’t realize it until Roxas tapped his fingers purposefully on the table, pointing to his own curling grin. Riku was smiling.

“Hey, what’s your Kingstagram ID again?” Roxas asked as he suddenly sat straight, digging his own phone out, a non-sequitur that confused Riku.

“You don’t follow me?” He asked, vaguely offended.

“I have you _blocked,”_ Roxas snickered. “Don’t take it personal, I did it back when we first met and never bothered to undo it.”

“That _is_ personal!” Riku said scathingly. Still, he gave his handle over, watching as Roxas fiddled with something. “Why do you even want it?”

“Gonna unblock you,” Roxas said, “then, well.” He locked his phone and gave Riku a genuinely mischievous grin. “We’ll see.”

* * *

 

 _“Good evening, Daybreak Town,”_ Sora said.

Riku scowled down at his breakfast bar.

_“I hope everyone’s having a great night!”_

Not if Riku had anything to say about it.

_“It’s really starting to feel like spring, huh?”_

Riku kept his apartment perpetually cold, regardless of the season.

Then he groaned, slumping over in his red vinyl bar stool, pillowing his forehead in his arms. What was the point of being contrary when Sora literally had no idea about it? Riku was being unbelievably childish, but he guess that was karma getting its kiss since Riku had gone a long long time without a single infatuation with any good leg to stand on.

He glared at the real source of his ire.

The neat postcard the radio station had included was still blank, save for a single blemish where he’d set his pen down earlier and then immediately retracted it. His pen had been set carefully parallel to it, and it was the only thing on his counter aside from tasteful clutter and a cup of tea.

It wasn’t raining for once, and the only sound aside from Sora’s idle talk was the conditioning unit circulating doggedly through the air, making his windows fog up again. His feet were firmly planted on the floor, too long limbed to manage bent knees while sitting at the bar, and he sat staring blankly at an equally blank card.

Riku had things to say, sure, but absolutely no idea _how_ to say it. Besides, it wasn’t like Sora would really care for a response, or if Riku wrote one, read it. He was sure these things were screened before they got to him or something. Admittedly, Riku had very little knowledge on how radio stations and shows worked. He was more of a subscribed service kind of guy, with specific playlists tailored for different functions, like running, studying, cooking, etc.

Stumbling across Sora’s show had been entirely accidental, but one Riku was grateful for. Even now, as Sora laughed about something, he felt the tension melt away.

 _“I don’t know about that,”_ Sora mused, humming slightly. _“If you’ve been friends for so long, do you really think they’ll turn you away? Sometimes, it just takes a drop of courage.”_

A drop of courage… that was easy to visualize. Something shiny and golden, like an RPG system. Riku grinned. It’d been a while since he played a good game, since before he’d left undergrad really. He rocked back in his stool and stared at the headlights dotted three in a row on his kitchen ceiling, closing one eye and holding his hand up until a sun spot bloomed between the curve of his thumb and forefinger.

There. A drop of courage.

It was entirely childish, completely unnecessary, did absolutely genuinely nothing, but Riku still found himself ricocheting back proper and grabbing his pen with feverish excitement, writing.

Tickled by Sora’s smiley face and Disney circle, Riku dotted his ‘i’ with three little circles as he signed it. Maybe he’d notice that, and remember him.

Then he couldn’t help hopelessly laughing, leaning over until he buried his face into his upper arm, shoulders shaking. Maybe it was a silly crush, one with no real hope, but it felt nice. Being silly, and indulgent, and writing letters and dotting his I’s. Feeling buoyed by this ticklish, delighted laughter. Riku couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt light like this, or even acted remotely childish without drinking.

Even if Sora never read the card, or if it was thrown out before he saw it, or if he read it and dismissed it, Riku felt happier having wrote it. It was an answer what he wanted, which was to reply.

He splayed his hand flat on top the card. Tomorrow. He’d mail it tomorrow.

_“Thanks for listening! Good night, and until tomorrow!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gorgeous art from Bun! Give them some love please ♥
>
>> Bc [@_oathbreaker](https://twitter.com/_oathbreaker?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw) 's fic "call it quits(call it destiny)" made me soft AF  
> and uhhhh riku and roxas friendship is excellent content [pic.twitter.com/4uzh7zFuq5](https://t.co/4uzh7zFuq5)
>> 
>> — 👁🗨👁🗨👁🗨👁🗨 (@ParasiticBun) [May 15, 2019](https://twitter.com/ParasiticBun/status/1128746880270077952?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments have been so kind! Thank you all so much for reading and leaving such thoughtful replies! I'm glad you're enjoying this, and that it helps set a mood. Here's an introduction of a few more characters, and a new pov!
> 
> I keep forgetting to mention this, but there's always a few days between chapters, given that we're working on a _mail system_ which ofc forces me to spread things out. 
> 
> “I cannot make you understand.  
> I cannot make anyone understand what is happening inside me.  
> I cannot even explain it to myself.”  
> \- Franz Kafka

Sora hummed excitedly, fiddling with a few dials as he listened to the change in setting with massive headphones held to one ear. He couldn’t wear them properly over his head by nature of his hair, something that immensely amused his friends. Finding the right setting that he’d changing from only to return to, Sora set to flicking through the day’s topic and general outline of a script.

Normally scripts were more detailed, possibly word-for-word, but Sora didn’t do well reading straight from a script. It came out stiff, stilted. If he memorized it then it worked out, but there wasn’t enough time to memorize a new script daily on top his usual studies. He fiddled with a pen stuck between his teeth, wagging it.

On the other side of the two way mirror were his friends, surely tracking the live stream and prepping for the rest of the show. They’d started out as a casual college stint that surprisingly gained traction, and after a few deals and refusing to compromise on their leader’s part, they found themselves in a real proper studio, which still amazed Sora. No one got their way like Vanitas did. Then again, no one casually brought still bruised knuckles to meetings.

Still, Sora was grateful for Vanitas’ heavy handed methods. The studio had large wrap-around windows that showcased the city skyline and the night sky. It was pretty high up on the island, so Sora had a pretty good look out onto the ocean. It helped add to the atmosphere, and when Sora was focused on the talk, he could erase the artificial machinery around him and pretend he was sitting outside, talking with a stranger in that comfort of anonymity, or a close friend, nothing but the stars to witness.

They had the recording rig set in the middle of the room, and normally Sora sat there alone on a stool, though there was room on the other side just in case they decided to bring someone else in. On the other side of the two way mirror was the more… business side of things, that completely flew over Sora’s hand. That’s what Roxas and Xion were for.

Sora’s absolute favorite part of doing this was all the feedback. The confessions, the hesitant, soft explanations. The letters smeared and the pages wrinkled. The emails rambling on and on. It felt like Sora was doing something, _capable_ of something, to affect people, to help them. To offer a hand, like he had wanted.

The heavy door was suddenly pushed open, the vacuum of sound popping as he could now hear the low chatter of his friends. Roxas poked his head through, grinning like a cheshire cat when he spotted Sora.

“Roxas!” Sora brightened, springing up from the stool to ram into his cousin at full-tilt, making them both rock like a boat-ride at an amusement park. “Roxas,” he hummed, squeezing him in a tight hug that was as enthusiastically returned before they pulled away.

“Sickening,” Vanitas spat, barging in and purposefully hitting Roxas in the shoulder as they all hovered by the doorway. “You do this every damn day like he went to war and died or something.”

“Shut up,” Roxas scowled, the good cheer instantly fading. “Sora’s just like that.”

Sora nodded. It was true.

“Well, what the hell do you want?” Vanitas demanded, glancing at his analog wristwatch, stopping just aside Roxas and Sora. It never ceased to amuse Sora how similar yet different Roxas and Vanitas could be. “You’ve got an exact twenty seconds before I kick your ass for knocking us off schedule.” He looked up, glowering through his dark messy hair. In a way, the show had all started between Sora and Vanitas, two look alikes who’d both found themselves in places neither wanted to be. This show was more than just a pastime. Still, he’d noticeably softened over the years, more inclined to tease than to taunt, to threaten than to act. It was a step up, in Sora’s book. “And you. Phone.” He held his hand out, palm up, and Sora petulantly dropped it with a smack into Vanitas’ hand. It was rule of house now that they confiscate Sora’s phone during recording, since he could never remember to mute the thing.

“Relax, you’re gonna bust a blood vessel someday,” Roxas said dismissively, turning back to Sora with a wide grin. “I wanted to show you something.”

“Oh?” Sora asked congenially, hoping for Roxas’ sake that whatever that ‘something’ was would be quick. “What is it?” He bounced minutely in place, curious.

With a hum, Roxas pulled his phone out, fiddled with something, wrinkling his nose when Vanitas inquisitively peered over his shoulder, brow cocking and shoving Roxas’ hair out of the way to see. After a brief scuffle, Roxas moved to stand beside Sora, showing him his phone.

It was someone’s Kingstagram account, scrolled down halfway through some photos. Sora blinked, completely thrown as to why Roxas was showing him this. “Okay…?” Sora said, obediently looking.

They were a few photos of what Sora supposed was their friends, and surprisingly enough Roxas was even in one.  Then, Sora saw their face.

Striking green eyes that were nearly startling in their intensity, with pretty soft silver hair framing an elegantly masculine face. He was more beautiful than handsome, until Sora saw the rest of him and could vehemently vouch for a more than sexy body. He gave small smiles, more of a neutral expression type in photos, and several looked straight out of a modeling shoot, complete with manufactured posing and high-end clothing.

“Okay?” Sora said again, even more confused. “Why are you showing me this model?”

“Model?” Roxas repeated, voice going higher in increments for some reason. He looked exorbitantly pleased.

“Yeah,” Sora nodded slowly. Was Roxas _blind?_ “He’s hot, but uhh why are you showing me? You have a crush or something?”

As if someone had broke a plate over Roxas’ head, his pleased smile fell, replaced with… disgust? “God, no, never in a million years.”

“Sounds like denial,” Sora teased. He let Vanitas take the phone from his grasp, continuing to scroll through. For all his irritation, Vanitas was a fiercely curious and demanding person and liked exploring any and all subject to exhaustion. Vanitas seemed to want to say something, thought better of it, and closed his mouth.

“No, Sora, no,” Roxas groaned. “I just wanted to uh. To share. See if you wanted to follow.”

“Follow… a model’s account.”

“He’s not a model.”

“Don’t lie to me Roxy. He’s definitely a model.”

“He’s not!”

_“Roxas!”_

_“I’m not lying!”_

“Time’s up,” Vanitas said sharply, pocketing Roxas’ phone and snapping his fingers. He grabbed Roxas by the shirt cuff, dragging him backwards. “I don’t give a shit what you’re planning, just do it outside of studio hours.”

Roxas immediately twisted on Vanitas like a hissing cat, both of them devolving into a spat as Vanitas continued to haul Roxas through the door, leaving Sora both behind and horribly confused as he waved bye.

In a noisy clatter of shouts and fairly aggressive threats on Vanitas’ part, Roxas barged back in and held his fist up. Blinking and then laughing, Sora bumped fists with him. “Good luck!” Roxas said, this time truly being dragged back out. It was equal parts uplifting and just a tiny bit sad, tinged by the past and the reason why Roxas was so adamant about always seeing Sora.

The door shut, and all the noise died, locked away. Suddenly, Sora felt terribly alone, despite knowing his friends were literally on the other side of the wall. Taking a deep breath, Sora shook it off, wild hair bouncing.

Still, he really was very pretty, Sora thought, lingering over what remained in memory. He took his seat, distractedly gathering his materials and reviewing the introductions he’d written for the bands tonight.

He brushed his hand over the stack of postcards, and smiled when he saw a tiny drawing of Mickey.

* * *

 

Daybreak Town at night was a much more calm affair. The insistent seagulls finally shut up, and the ocean was a welcome background to the cicadas finally creeping out now that summer was near. It was still as aggressively humid as during the day, but the night breezes were cooler, and best of all, the streets were empty.

Riku leaned on the side of the door in the tram as it steadily continued round the island. All the trams worked 24/7, manned by technology for the most part, stopping on its own with a reprimanding whistle when something crossed its path. A much more benevolent whistle blew when someone requested a stop. It was empty this close to midnight, and the gentle rocking and _clack-clack-clack_ filling in the spaces between ocean waves crashing and nightlife music was working to calm Riku’s nerves.

Most of the homes on the island were made of white stucco and terracotta roof tiles, and nature was both as much part of as aesthetically designed to be included. Despite the overwhelmingly modern advancements, the islands clung to tradition and preservation. It was a strange place to be sure, but the reason Riku had moved here was for the lifestyle and the education.

Still, he was restless by nature. Always moving, always trying to get rid of that itch beneath his skin. He had no particular reason to be out, but here he was, riding the tram to nowhere.

He titled his head back, feet anchored firmly on the tram floor. He liked lingering in the doorway instead of sitting proper, liked the wind in his hair and the way it felt like he was really just floating or flying, as if he was in water. For all the water surrounding the islands, there weren’t really many nice beaches, and Riku missed the white sand coasts of his hometown sometimes. Missed floating in black water with the stars swallowing him, above and below and all around him, the way it felt like he was the only being in the entire universe.

Lost in his idle meditation, Riku still managed to pull the wire and requested a stop. He’d ended up higher on the island, but Riku didn’t mind making treks. He normally ran the distance in his morning jogs when the weather permitted.

The breeze was gentle through his hair, now approaching warm enough that Riku didn’t need to wear a jacket. So he pulled it off, looping it over his messenger bag as he approached the park. It was very dense, more just a tiny spot of trees, but the path was designed with bikers and joggers in mind, and there was a spot where the trees broke and a railing was installed to curtail possible trips down the cliff face. Picnic benches dotted the little clearing, but it was wide enough that there was a sizeable spot of grass still undisturbed by frequent steps. Riku headed there now, smiling with fireflies peeked out shyly.

He liked this spot. He liked the ocean view and the stars of both city lights and in the sky. He liked the solitude and the comfort of grass on his back when he laid down, messenger bag pillowing his head. He bent one knee and crossed his ankle on it, plugging in his earbuds as he tuned in to a radio station app installed for explicitly this purpose.

Riku still had time, so he texted Lea back, the willy-nilly bastard that liked to disappear and reappear at his convenience, _especially_ just to mooch off Riku at his place. Checked a few news apps, and then he caught a twinkling star. He snapped a photo, refusing to tag the location and adding a comment about constellations and radio waves, appropriately vague. For all that Riku didn’t care about his follower count — which was _ridiculously_ high the moment he’d started posting selfies — he was also perpetually aware of potential pitfalls with employer’s and the brands he wore occasionally for side-money.  

Once, Riku used to care. Too much. It used to consume him, the way he wore himself and how others saw him. How he could use that, use his appeal and his wits and his charm, not for any malicious endgame, but because he _could,_ and that was _thrilling._

He could crush someone’s hopes, raise them with a smirk, could command a room’s presence and he knew it. He was _the_ one, but at some point, that all fell apart.

He got sad.

He got anxious.

He got tired.

None of that had really gone away, hence his back-and-forth friendship with Roxas, or the oft-gone Lea, or his solitary habits. Once he realized that all the manipulation had been born from a lifetime of neglect, it’d lost its thrill. No one knew Riku, least of all himself, and the magic of traveling became too lonesome, too much.

That was around when he’d first found Sora’s station. It seemed silly now, how much he’d latched onto that. Sora was so forgiving, so understanding. Riku couldn’t count the number of nights he’d spent mired in his own constructed isolation, knees drawn up and countless childhood memories clawing its way to the forefront of his mind, listening to Sora talk. Meals spent alone, achievements gone unrecognized, evenings with not a soul around, the way a hand on his shoulder could _burn._

Riku groaned, rolling onto his stomach. He hated getting caught in the cycle of melancholy. So what? Everyone had some awful thing about their family and Riku was no special example. They’d tried, in their own backwards shallow way, to be there for him.

 _Or something,_ he thought, scowling as he thought of the way his apartment still didn’t feel like home.

With a sigh, he scrolled down his social feed, idly catching up onto friends’ ongoings. His photo had already gotten some traction, so he tabbed over to the notifications, eyes glazing over as he saw several likes and too-forward comments. The suggestive ones always made him smirk, amused, and then he saw his new followers.

His heart dropped.

No. No way. There was _no way_ that’s who he thought it was. That was a fan who’d used the some photo Riku hadn’t seen before. It was one of those celebrity fan accounts.

Trembling, Riku pressed the icon, opening the user page.

He closed his eyes.

It was _Sora._

His bright grin, a college’s initials with a graduating year, some quote Riku didn’t recognize along with symbols Riku had no way of fathoming out. He even had the radio station’s website included in his bio.

The opening theme song started, startling Riku into dropping his phone. He sat up so quickly he got dizzy, frazzled beyond belief as he looked around. Was someone watching him? What the fuck? Was this all some cosmic coincidence?

_“Good evening Daybreak Town!”_

“Oh, fuck,” Riku mumbled. He covered his face with his hands, and it wasn’t until he touched his cheeks that he realized they were burning.

 _Sora_ was following _him._ On what looked like a personal account. No way.

He started laughing like a fool, equal parts thrilled and nervous. Had Sora scrolled through his account? Did he… follow Riku because of his postcard? Should he be creeped out? Not a chance in hell, really, of that happening though.

Sora was still talking of course, and Riku picked his phone back up, upping the brightness even though it made his eyes sting. He flicked through a few photos, curious of the Sora behind the voice.

He seemed to have an active lifestyle. Photos of brunches, picnics, game tournaments, all with friends. There was even a few studio selfies, and tons of people Riku didn’t recognize. Then, he saw Sora with his cheek squished against a familiar blond, who wore an equally bright smile as they showed off some award with Roxas’ name scribbled on it.

Riku’s blood pressure shot through the roof. That _bastard!_

_He’d known! The entire time!_

“Oh my God,” Riku mumbled, dizzy. Roxas’ stifled laughter, his knowing grin, the sudden demand for his account handle. Did he tell Sora everything? Did Sora know Riku had a raging crush on him like some preteen fan? Riku wished a meteorite would fall out of the sky right that second and obliterate him on impact.

Yet, despite the immense soul-consuming embarrassment, Riku still listened as Sora spoke.

_“You’ve been together for so long, put some faith in that! Some communication goes a long way.”_

Riku was definitely going to get Roxas back good for this. It didn’t matter that he didn’t feel angry or even sound angry, or that he was wearing the biggest smile of his life — Roxas was going to _pay._

He laid back on soft grass, phone abandoned beside him as he felt the moon’s gentle light on him, closing his eyes to listen better.

_“Believe in the you that’s had your back this whole time — and in the friends who’ve always been beside you.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vanitas followed for him because he likes fucking with Sora. 
> 
> Third chapter and they still haven’t even _met,_ I’m so sorry. 
> 
> Vanitas is both in charge of organizing everything and dealing with the legitimate business side of things. Roxas and Xion are both on sound/tech, Namine does their brand/logos general art merch, and Ventus is their social media front. Vanitas is also the one who fields all the postcards because I will die on the hill of reluctantly far too empathetic Vanitas. They call it a studio but it’s really not all that impressive, and they definitely started out in the basement of a library or cafe on campus.
> 
> This is Scala ad Caelum but like… scaled down to being realistic in the modern world. It’s an island chain similar to Destiny Islands, with lots of ferries and boats between them. The trams are the best mode of public transportation. I took a leaf from ane as to how the island-city layout works out, though there’s definitely a bit of ghibli inspiration there.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took so long! It really fought me at the start, but it's done. Baby steps, one by one (for Riku, too) 
> 
> I hope you enjoy ^^

The sky was clear, glistening stars scattered across it like someone had gathered a handful and tossed them. The air felt poignant, heavy with expectation, and the occasional blue cloud drifted in sheer wisps across the full moon. Sora admired the view through the windows, though he could see more of the well-lit studio reflected than the sky beyond it. Sora sat comfortably on his stool, legs perched on the rungs because he couldn’t reach the floor. 

Sora listened idly as the song played through his headphones. Ven had been the one who found a pair that’d stay on when Sora looped them around the back of his head rather across the top, and Namine had overhauled it, customizing it with crown decals and a red-black color scheme streaked with silver accents. This was a habit of hers, something they all enjoyed. She liked more hands on traditional art than digital, though she could reliably do the latter. Sora had several pieces of her work framed, and the basement they’d started in had a wall she’d taken over.

On his tablet was the band’s information as well as an open chat that they used to talk to him while he was live, since Sora wouldn’t listen in-ear and talk at the same time. He felt it was rude to his listeners if he didn’t devote his full attention.

He pulled out the final postcard, reading it over diligently.

_ Something Different _

He blinked. He’d skimmed it briefly earlier, but Vanitas normally refused to let him read the cards before airing. Occasionally Sora still managed to snag them, but for the most part they were kept hidden from him. He said Sora performed best if he didn’t overthink it, something the rest of the squad backed up vehemently. They had their weekly meetings where they planned the topics and discussed it properly, though of course they were always chatting about the station throughout the week and before and after they aired anyways. 

As it was, Sora hadn’t connected the title before, but sitting in the same spot as the last time he’d read the _Something_ series, it came to him faster. A grin grew on his face. They’d replied! 

He bit the knuckle of his forefinger to quell the excited surge, suddenly restless as he rearranged his feet on the stool. They’d  _ replied!  _

He’d wanted them to, he’d been  _ hoping  _ they would. Sora had received a few cards he resonated with, but never one he’d been almost reluctant to read aloud. Sora discussed a lot on the show, and though they always touched base to make sure he was comfortable, it didn’t mean it didn’t take a lot out of him. Still, their card had been the first time Sora had felt  _ seen,  _ for a problem he’d never even been able to put a name to. That card had been the first one Sora really went out of his way to respond to, even though he always sent a reply out of gratitude, none of them had been as personal as that one.

The song was coming to its end though, and several messages had popped up on their chat, tiny Namine-style icons accompanying their messages. 

_ Xion: Act sharp! _

_ Ven: Sora you daydreaming? _

_ Vanitas: Dumbo, whatre you looking at? _

He pouted at the last comment, ears flushing red. Vanitas had never let the nickname go since Sora’s first overreaction to it. So they were a little big, that was  _ normal!  _ He typed back an indignant response, which had the chat laughing. 

Shaking it off, Sora rubbed his thumb along the hard edge of the postcard, pressing to make it bend at the corner, despite the teeny punctured indent it left in his thumb. Vanitas sent the countdown message, and Sora closed his eyes, letting the last of the song wash over him.

“And that was Maddie Jay,” Sora said, opening his eyes to catch another message reminding Sora of his remaining time. He tended to lose track rather easily. Mentally, he rounded up all he had left to say, and found he was doing alright.

He licked his lips, heart beating just that little bit faster. He took a deep breath in through his nose, carefully controlling his exhale so the microphone wouldn’t pick it up. 

_ Roxas: Is everything alright? _

He flashed an OK-sign and set the card square in front of him. He hoped, irrationally, that they were listening. That somewhere, someone was hearing him as he spoke, that they were connected intangibly, across miles and stars. 

He made the usual segue into the postcard segment, a little bit too rushed, but he was excited now. “Our next postcard is titled  _ Something Different.  _ I wonder if this is the same writer as  _ Something Weird?”  _ His eyes tracked down to the name left there this time. His grin widened when he spotted the hidden Mickey, a torrent of warmth and endearment flustering him. 

The last time, the postcard has been sealed into an envelope rather than sent as is, and Vanitas always handled the mailing and cards, though Xion lent the occasional hand. Sora hadn’t seen their name then, and he dragged the pad of his finger over it now.

_ Riku. _

Familiar, oddly enough. He wanted to try saying it aloud, but he knew better than that. 

“Let’s see what they have to say!  _ Thank you for your help last time, I was surprised when I suddenly heard it. You asked something I’d never thought of before, and now I wonder what else I might have missed, being so self-involved. I still don’t know what I’m looking for, but now I can’t wait to find it. You gave me something to look forward to, and that’s more than I’ve had in a long time.” _

Oh, Sora thought, throat closing. It never changed, no matter how long he’d been working at it. The moment it hit him how painfully vulnerable others were, how much they hid where he couldn’t see it, but were so willing to write it for him to read, was always a moment that never got easier. He felt their pain like his own, nearly, and it was an honor he couldn’t describe to be given the gift of someone’s deepest secret. To be trusted not only to see it, but to maybe somehow help.

He read the next bit, lips poised to speak, but faltered.

_ I hope you find what you’re looking for, too. Your show has helped me more than you know. _

_ Thank you, Sora.  _

_ —Riku _

“Thank you for your time!” Sora blurted out instead, hands trembling. He slapped the card down, winced as surely the noise had carried, and tried to keep the nervous laugh from bubbling up. Oh, crap, oh  _ crap  _ he hoped they weren’t listening because for sure they’d know Sora had skipped the rest of that and he’d never really done that before but somehow, reading that aloud felt like… like… 

He didn’t know! But he couldn’t do it. 

“That’s great!” He said, words rushing to get out. “Maybe what you’ll find will be here or somewhere else, but I think once you do, you’ll find where you want to be. I think being free isn’t about where you physically are, but about your heart, and who you’re with.” As he spoke, he calmed, finding his usual mien during these sessions. He cupped his hand over his heart, finding his reflection in the dark glass. “Follow your heart, and you’ll definitely find what you’re looking for!”

He dropped his hands to lightly press his index finger over the three circles. “Thank you for sharing,”  _ Riku,  _ “hopefully next time is something  _ better.” _

On their chat, Roxas sent an amused emoji, followed by Ven with several question marks. Sora sent them a look towards the mirror, and continued onto the next card.

He already had plans in mind for his own reply to Riku.

 

* * *

 

“You’re terrible,” Riku ground out.

The cafe was just as busy with traffic but the chairs perpetually empty save them. Outside, the rain poured the announcement of summer, which instead of balmy lovely sunshine was plagued by torrents and wind, per the norm. Riku’s raincoat was dripping where it lay folded over the arm of his chair, and across from him, Roxas sat cross-legged in his usual chair, entirely unrepentant as he slurped at his iced sugary drink topped with too much whipped cream.

“You sure you wanna be throwin’ those words around?” Roxas asked around his straw, hay-blond hair a much more respectable shade now that there wasn't early morning light to frame it. Once again, Roxas sat with his back to the light, which Riku was beginning to think was to purposefully keep Riku facing the sunshine-glare whenever it dared to peek through. Roxas let go of the plastic with a satisfied smack of his lips, leaning back and sporting a shit-eating grin. “Especially to the guy who  _ knows  _ Sora.”

Just hearing his name aloud made Riku’s cheeks catch fire, and he surreptitiously grabbed his drink to take a sip he couldn’t quite taste. 

“You know what he said about you?” Roxas asked, and Riku’s drink went down the wrong way. He erupted into a coughing fit that made Roxas snort with laughter. “God, this is the most fun I’ve had in  _ forever.” _

“What did he say?” Riku demanded once he’d recovered, heart beating a nervous trill. He’d spent that night at the park blissfully overjoyed and riding cloud nine, up until the part when Sora had read his card aloud  _ again.  _

Sora skipping the end hit him like a punch to the gut, taking all his excitement with it. He wondered, suddenly, if he’d been too… overfamiliar? Too much. Too….  _ too everything. _ He’d definitely came off as a creep and he regretting every ounce of sunshine courage that had emboldened him to ever write let alone send that card.

“Wait, no, don’t tell me,” Riku said before Roxas could say anything. He held his hand up as if to physically cut their tangent off, the other bracing his forehead as he leaned his bent arm against the table. “I bet he thinks I’m… I’m  _ weird  _ or something.” He’d never understood how silence could be that heavy, and he regretted now every single person he’d ghosted, intentionally or not, or every flirtatious conversation he’d forgotten about halfway through, only to recall hours later with mild guilt. He’d never been on the opposite end, waiting for each word with bated breath, heart doing jumps and loops like a trained gymnast aiming for gold. 

“You overthink too much,” Roxas scowled, shoving his drink aside and rubbing his checkered wristband through the condensation left behind. He looked much better now that he’d clearly slept more, Riku noted, and he remembered the jar of vitamins he’d bought on his way. Roxas was dressed down, long sleeves traded out for something short paired with a light jacket, because Roxas didn’t seem to understand the point of  _ summer  _ until it was hot enough for heat stroke. “You should know better. Sora’s not like that.”

Abruptly, the static that had taken over Riku’s mind since ceased. Roxas was right. Even if it was just a persona, there was no way to fake that level of earnest care Sora had. 

“Then, why…” Riku trailed off.  _ Why did he ignore the rest of what I said? _

“Why what?” Roxas pressed, and Riku glanced at him, brows knitting together. 

“You don’t read the cards?” Riku asked instead, and Roxas hummed, leaning back again as if he owned the place, comfortable as could be.

“Not really, the others on our team do. I’m in charge of the tech,” Roxas wagged his fingers, and Riku abruptly remembered Roxas’ many sleepless nights. “Sora’s the one in front, but a show’s a lotta work.”

“Right,” Riku blinked. “I never even thought of that…”

Vaguely, he’d imagined interns and a system of some sort, but really they’d been nameless blank faces, centered around the vibrant existence of Sora sitting on that barstool, like some solar system. “So you’re there every night?” Riku asked, curious now. He crossed his arms on the table, leaning forward and drink forgotten. The cafe continued its usual ambience, customers and servers alike melding into one amicable chatter in the background, providing the illusion of anonymity and privacy.

“Well, pretty much yeah,” Roxas said, tilting his head back along the chair to thoughtfully consider the wooden beam-crossed ceiling. “Sometimes Xion could take over for me, but I like being there for Sora. He gets nervous, you know?”

_ No, I don’t,  _ Riku thought. He didn’t really know much at all, and he took every morsel Roxas dropped as if it were gold. “He does?”

Roxas cut him a look, thoughtful. “Yeah, ‘course he does. Always worries he’s gonna miss a cue or say the wrong thing. The whole thing was started by him and Vanitas, but he still acts like he’ll mess it all up.” Roxas reached out, fiddling with his straw as he dragged the drink closer, idly wiping up the condensation again. “It’s why he’s not the social front though. Ven’s good for that. Would’ve been too much emotionally, ya know?” He swirled the straw through its whipped cream melted contents and then finished it noisily.

Riku could guess, but he couldn’t fathom having a heart like Sora’s. Even when he listened, he was in awe at how kind Sora could be. 

“Anyways, there’s six of us,” Roxas continued, reaching over to plop the empty drink beside Riku’s now-cold cup, “though sometimes we get some help from others, depending. But normally, it’s just us.”

“Wow,” Riku breathed. “That’s pretty amazing.”

Roxas seemed taken aback, and then colored slightly. 

“Well look at that,” Riku teased, easily reaching across the table to poke Roxas’ pink cheek. “You’re blushing.”

“Am not!” Roxas swatted his hand away, hunkering down like a sulking teen. “You didn’t let me finish earlier! Do you wanna hear what Sora said or not?”

All his good humor drained away, replaced by butterflies crowding his stomach. His tongue felt particularly useless as he tried to sauvely play off how very desperately he did want to know. “I mean, sure, why not…”

Roxas rolled his eyes, not fooled at all. “I showed him your Kingstagram,” he began, and Riku stiffened. “He asked me who the model was. Wouldn’t believe me when I said you weren’t one!” Roxas laughed, as inside Riku began to slowly die.

_ Model, model, does he really think I’m a  _ model?

He really wanted to pester Roxas further, demand to know which photo had incited this, if Sora had said anything else, if he mentioned what he thought specifically of Riku at all, but his pride was hanging on by a nail and Riku could see the evil glint of amusement in Roxas’ eyes.

“I-is that so,” Riku managed.

“Uh-huh,” Roxas sang, “so, you gonna follow him back?”

“What?” Riku squawked. “H-how do you know I’m not already?”

Roxas gave him a deadpan look, and Riku immediately knew it was because he’d just told him. Fantastic. Another tally under the score for Roxas in their eternal endless battle to somehow outwit the other. 

“Look, wouldn’t it be weird?” Riku said, pulling his phone out to gesture towards it and the app on it. “Like, it’s been days already! I couldn’t follow back right away because it was too soon and then after it wasn’t the right time, and—”

“Okay, you’re  _ really  _ overthinking it,” Roxas cut in, snatching Riku’s phone from his heated gesturing. With black-painted nails he swiped in Riku’s password, which  _ when the hell did he learn that,  _ and set it flat for Riku to see as he pulled up Sora’s account. Riku audibly gulped seeing Sora’s cheery smile again. “See? Did you even check the dates?”

Riku hadn’t. He leaned in close and found the latest post had been over a week ago. 

“Sora’s tech-illiterate. He can barely find a word processor to write his essays, let alone figure out social media. That’s another reason Ven’s the front.” Roxas rolled his eyes with badly concealed fondness. “He’s got the personality for it but he just… doesn’t get it.”

_ Cute,  _ Riku helplessly thought,  _ I can’t believe he can get any cuter. _

“Sora’s not gonna notice when you follow because he hardly ever gets on Kingstagram,” Roxas continued, “and anyways, don’t you think you’re digging your own grave by not following back? Can’t get any closer if you keep adding distance.”

Riku frowned, because even though Roxas made sense, his actions didn’t. “I thought you were super protective of your cousin,” Riku murmured, using a finger to swivel his phone around so it faced him right-side up. “I kind of thought you’d do everything you could to keep us apart.”

Roxas hummed, a soft quiet sound that stirred Riku from staring at Sora’s profile. Roxas’ gaze was locked on the phone, but it seemed distant. “Protective’s a word for it,” Roxas said slowly, “but you’re not a  _ bad  _ guy, Riku. Really,  _ really  _ embarrassing,” Roxas snickered, glancing up at Riku, “but not bad. And I guess I approve, or something.” He shrugged, and Riku sat back, rubbing at his neck.

Oh. He… hadn’t really thought of it that way. That Roxas was…  _ okay  _ with it as part of Sora’s family. The weight of that hit him solidly in the chest, made him really consider how his disastrous first meeting with Roxas had culminated into this, sitting across from each other at a cafe, discussing Riku’s so far non-existent love life. Made whatever  _ this  _ was become that much more real now that Sora’s family was part of it.

“...thanks,” Riku managed, genuinely touched but at a loss for words.

Roxas scowled. “Seriously. Don’t. I’m doing this for  _ Sora,  _ okay?”

Riku grinned anyways. “Naturally.” 

Roxas pursed his lips, then tapped the follow button on Sora’s profile.

As Riku preceded to melt into another panic, Roxas laughed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is "Little Love" by Maddie Jay. It just happened to be playing as I wrote that bit, so I included it. Also, lovely pal Cru did these _adorable_ designs of the mentioned icons and I love them to bits! Give them some love ♥
>
>> i.... tried.... for u nichi dhfghj the idea was too cute but turns out namine style hard.... [pic.twitter.com/KPqEC209BT](https://t.co/KPqEC209BT)
>> 
>> — cru (@crusdoodles) [June 22, 2019](https://twitter.com/crusdoodles/status/1142283238372720640?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've heard carrot soup's good for the skin.
> 
> Wow, it's been a hot minute since I've updated this. There was a brief period where I couldn't write at all because of wrist problems and even now I have to take it slow, so please bear with me in the upcoming chapters as I try to...speed up...a slow burn. Somewhat. Maybe to a simmer? 
> 
> I've been worried a lot about living up to whatever expectation readers have for this fic and thinking I should hurry up the process but this is what I'd always envisioned for this, regardless of how long it takes in fic or real time for me to write. I suppose people may be disappointed...

Riku had grown up on a different set of islands, similar to Daybreak, but a lot more traditional. Country. Behind on the times, whatever euphemism you wanted to use to mean  _ old  _ and  _ outdated,  _ Destiny Islands was it. He’d had a childhood of sun and sand and bronzed skin forever singing the praises of a lifetime spent half in the water. 

And he’d had single room schoolhouses when he was six, and then long commutes when he was in middle school to another island where the grade all gathered, and then his parents finally paid an ounce of attention and whisked him away somewhere else. 

He’d weathered hurricanes and frightening storms, and Riku knew how to tell when the humidity swelled, when it’d break and the rains would come pouring.

And  _ still,  _ nothing fucking compared to Daybreak’s humid summer mess.

Riku groaned aloud, forehead dropping with a hideous thud onto his pristine glass desk, the smack stinging momentarily. His hair was an inch thicker from the weather, and a total mess that he’d given up on the moment he’d woken up, clipping his bangs back in the comfort of his home.

His mind had been so scrambled by Sora and then deep fried by Roxas’ ‘helpful’ antics that Riku had forgotten his grad school work. It never ended, and he’d spent the last weekend floating a foot off the ground with daydreams.

Now, it was Monday, and reality weighed a good deal heavier than a ton on his back.

A familiar ping echoed, and Riku groggily looked up to focus on his desktop beside his third cup of coffee.

_ Axel: yo, still alive? _

Riku kept his chin on his desk as he typed back.

_ Riku: barely :/ send help _

_ Axel: aw buddy you’ll live! _

_ Riku: highly debatable. might just get a fourth cup of coffee _

_ Axel: it’s barely nine am wtf are you doing on 3 cups already? _

_ Riku: coping? _

There was a long pause after, which Riku could tell was likely filled by Axel sighing in deep frustration. Riku spent this time agonizing over his assignment. He was already two-thirds done, but all of a sudden he was hit by uselessness like a train. He resolutely tried to ignore Sora’s open kingstagram on another window.

_ Axel: aside frm that, whats up? _

Riku considered this. He’d already spilled his guts to Roxas, so there wasn’t really a need to drag Axel into it, but unfortunately he was typing before his mind had made itself up.

_ Riku: you know how you always said I needed to find somebody  _

_ Axel: and maybe finally chill out? Holy shit you did _

_ Riku: MAYBE _

_ Axel: Im gonna cry, bby Rikus finally growing up _

_ Riku: okay you know what I regret this entirely _

_ Axel: what should I put on the congratulatory cake? finally grew a heart? _

_ Riku: ha. ha. _

_ Axel: ya know im just fuckin with you _

_ Riku: no you’re not _

_ Axel: fair _

_ Axel: I’ll be over later with the cake ;) _

_ Riku: holy shit I’m not opening the door _

_ Axel: :’3c _

_ Riku: BYE _

He closed the window, shuddering, and then resolutely closed Sora’s, too. 

His phone buzzed next, Axel likely having decided to continue teasing Riku, and he realized he’d suddenly found the willpower to finally finish the last of his work of the day. Shoving his phone relentlessly into a set of tiny drawers on his desk for exactly this purpose, Riku cracked his neck, stretched his arms, and set to work.

It was just past noon when Riku finished, and the shot of pure serotonin as he closed all the required windows and shuffled everything together to be put once more out of sight was almost better than his coffee. However, hunger struck and he forgot his phone entirely in favor of pawing through for his favorite meal box recipe of the day.

By the time it occurred to him that people quite often have social lives and update their status accordingly, it was three hours after Sora had posted.

His phone nearly slipped from his grasp and it was only a hasty hot-potato moment that kept it from shattering on any brickwork, slack jaw snapping shut as he stared at the notification stacked neatly on top of Axel’s seven messages. Ignoring those entirely, Riku shoved his barely-touched food aside to immediately open Kingstagram. 

He held his breath, almost frozen as his finger hovered over Sora’s profile icon.

This was— it was— he blushed, scowling— just  _ ridiculous.  _ All in a tizzy over someone updating their stupid status. He firmly placed his phone face down, steepling his hands and resting his chin on his thumbs stuck out, deeply contemplating exactly how head over heels he was.

“It’s too much,” Riku said, because when you lived alone speaking aloud became a habit and Riku could admit even to himself that he monologued at best, “come on, it’s been three hours.  _ He’s  _ not going to be jumping at anything  _ you  _ post. He barely knows you exist. You’re just a… a m-model,” and wow stuttering even to himself? A brand new low, “a model…”

He looked at his phone.

With an exaggerated groan, Riku snatched it back up and opened Sora’s profile. He could literally feel his eyes dilating as he landed on the photo, arrested by Sora’s blue eyes.

It was a close-up shot of Sora grinning mischievously, slumped over a desk with his chin pillowed in his hand, the other lax and holding pen and paper down as he dimpled at the lens, probably at the person sitting beside him from how close they were. He wore a sleeveless hoodie that looked like it’d been personally ripped off, and his hair was as wild and untamed as it normally was, except Riku could swear there was some highlights in there. 

He looked tired, actually, and Riku blinked at this bit of humanity, like a kernel of gold within his usual persona.

Riku realized suddenly that he was probably still in undergrad and suffering through the usual grind of final exams, and he couldn’t help his curling smirk. There was one more photo, and Riku swiped through— and promptly swallowed his own spit wrong.

It was Sora in the same hoodie, but he realized now that it was shorn off not only at the sleeves but halfway off his torso entirely, baring the skin of his stomach as he sat loosely curled up, athletic trainers crossed at the ankles and a smoothie or drink of some sort at risk of slipping entirely out of his other hand as he posed to phone, grinning up and eyes squinting from the sunlight. He looked terribly imperfect, with his under-eye bags and his stomach wrinkling from the pose, athletic pants completing the look.

His caption read:

> _ Lunch break! Nams caught me falling asleep in class and woke me up instead of letting me catch up on zzzs ★ running the show always gets harder round finals time but nothin a good meal cant take care of! _

Riku swallowed hard, eyes flicking back up to this new piece of information. He was all bronzed skin and toned muscle, but still lithe, more of a runner’s body than the weights Riku preferred. He was horrendously perfect, and Riku knew he was an absolute  _ goner  _ when not even an unflattering pose and obvious sleep deprivation could keep him from thinking how utterly perfect Sora looked.

Then his eyes flicked down, and he snorted, then laughed, and then he was kind of helplessly pillowing his forehead in his hands. He barely managed to type his comment from his mirth.

> _ >Nice shoes. _

Before he could even form some kind of anxiety meltdown over it, Roxas texted him not three minutes after he posted, a blunt no-introduction.

_ Roxas: you owe me a drink _

_ Riku: right now? _

_ Roxas: the answer was no but since u wanna be whiny about it yes right now _

_ Riku: its the middle of the day dont you have class or something _

_ Roxas: so what Im getting here is you dont wanna hear about sora _

_ Riku: (is typing) _

_ Riku: (is typing) _

_ Riku: (is typing) _

_ Riku: (is typing) _

 

_ Riku: text me your order _

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t until Riku stepped onto campus, iced cinnamon mocha with three pumps of sugar and cream dripping condensation all over his hand, that Riku realized Roxas and Sora went to same school. 

He froze like a deer in headlights, petrified in the middle of one of the quads. All around him students did the their usual half-dying routine — some were laid out in exhaustion, others were studying, and even more were basking in the momentary sunshine after all the recent rains. He could practically taste the fear of exams looming over the entire campus, and it did nothing to help alleviate his own.

Maybe he could just become a pretty statue right here.  _ Man in leather jacket, Moogle in hand.  _ Yeah, that sounded do-able. 

He felt uncomfortably like he was somehow stalking Sora, even though he swore up and down that it genuinely hadn’t occurred to him until this moment that Sora even attended the same campus. He’d blame the multiple cups of coffee, that kind of intake always messed with Riku’s good reasoning. In fact, he should just turn around right now, Roxas be damned—

His phone buzzed angrily, and Riku knew it was Roxas. He had an uncanny sense for when Riku was about to do something stupid or thoughtless and sure enough, it was an irritated text demanding where Riku thought he was.

Unfortunately, it really was kind of gross to have a sweating cup in hand practically dripping, so with a long-suffering sigh, Riku texted Roxas for directions. A few minutes of awkwardly standing there and observing the campus, he got an answer and he obediently left in what he’d vaguely recalled was Roxas’ usual hiding spots. 

All the grass was a gorgeous vibrant green, white stone-paved walkways cutting through it like star streaks at midnight, and even the sky was a wonderful saccharine blue, the world awash with primary colors following the recent monsoon shift. Of course, the rains would eventually return as they always did, but the new wind lazily spun all the windmills propped on the tops of buildings, a notably large one at the epicenter of the entire campus. Solar panels winked when the sun hit them at the right angle, tastefully obscured by foliage for the most part.

A round of classes must have ended because an influx of students swarmed the green and white, overtaking it with their ‘it’s barely summer but I can’t wait anymore’ outfits and bared skin, the general hint of congealed student smell barely masked by the constant sea breeze that swept it away before it could become offensive.

It was, all in all, actually a very nice day, and Riku realized he didn’t mind being out of his apartment for more than just school for once. If his jacket wasn’t a part of his look, he would’ve shucked it long ago to enjoy the brilliant hint of summer sun.

As it was, he eventually found the hide-a-way Roxas’ major had claimed as theirs maybe five years ago and no other sensible major had decided to argue for. It was a terrace cafe on their quad, requiring a flight of stairs down to the entrance by nature of all the buildings being built on a hill. On the other side, where the hill petered out from the foundation, was a terrace as its namesake, all wooden structure and greenery. Of course, most of the nerds were sitting inside where it was suitably dark and cool with spinning fans, cafe clientele populating the myriad of tables and chairs.

Riku’s phone buzzed again, and a quick glance told him Roxas must’ve seen him coming in because he had a text dictating that he was in fact  _ outside  _ on the terrace and not inside. Riku made a beeline through the cafe, half-heartedly glancing at the menu in case he found himself hungry. Stepping back outside made him blink, vertigo washing over him as he tried to adjust from dim darkness to bright sunlight, but he found Roxas in a far corner, sitting at a table bare save his water bottle.

Spying him, Roxas raised a ring and wristband covered hand. “Took you long enough.”

“This campus is huge, shut up,” Riku said, sitting across from Roxas and sliding the sopping wet drink over. He flicked his hand clean of it directly at Roxas, who spluttered at the spray of water.

Instead of responding, Roxas took a long, satisfied drag of his over-sugared drink, immediately sighing in bliss. “At least you got the order right.”

“As if I ever don’t?” Riku shot back, checking his phone out of pure habit. 

“Thinking of someone else,” Roxas murmured dismissively, bright eyes alighting on Riku’s phone. “Nice shoes, huh?”

Riku frowned. “What?” He glanced down. These were an old pair of shoes, ones Roxas had surely seen a hundred times before. In fact, they were kind of getting old, sole worn. He should probably get another favorite pair. 

“No. you idiot, I couldn’t care less about  _ your  _ shoes, I meant  _ Sora’s.” _

Riku colored furiously. “You saw that already?” He practically squeaked. Then, accusingly, “Weren’t you in  _ class?” _

Roxas shrugged, unrepentant and grinning like the cat that caught the canary. He still seemed sleep deprived despite his amusement, and beside his lap was a worn book and a stack of messy notes. Roxas grew more comfortable, shoving his foot onto the edge of the low table as he slouched, uncaring of the drink dripping condensation on his clothes. “It was boring.”

“So?” Riku said stiffly, crossing his arms. “What were you going to tell me about,” he hesitated, “S-Sora?” He closed his eyes for a long moment, mortified he couldn’t even say his name reliably without tripping over his growing pile of feelings falling from his arms desperately trying to hold it all together.

Roxas’ cheshire grin curled up on one end, but he didn’t mention the obvious tell, though somehow that was even worse. “What, not gonna ask how was class? How am I doing, anything new—”

“Oh, shut up,” Riku said, rolling his eyes as Roxas snickered.

“Okay, okay, fine.” Roxas dug his phone out with his free hand, noisily sucking on his drink as he navigated and rapidly texted something. He spoke, eyes trained on his screen. “I figure you don’t know much about Sora and I guess I’ll… split even with you. Anything you ask about him is fair game for me to tell Sora about you. You get three questions.”

What a  _ powerful  _ double-edged sword Roxas had just impaled Riku with. “What, 20 questions but every single one gives me away?”

“Yep!” Roxas said cheerfully, swirling his straw through melted foam and sugar.

That gave Riku pause to think. What could he ask about Sora that in turn wouldn’t out Riku for anything… well, Riku wasn’t sure what could possibly be bad thing to know about him at the moment but surely there was something that would just leave Sora turning his nose up in a  _ nope, this guy sucks  _ way.

Riku thought long and hard before hesitantly asking, “What does he like to do in his free time?”

Roxas didn’t find the question funny, a worry Riku didn’t realize he’d even had. “He’s pretty athletic. He’ll roller blade while Ven and I skate, used to do track back in his first year here and high school. He’s part of a lot of game tournaments on campus, from video games to volley ball and basket ball. Outside of that, the show  _ is  _ his free time, and then he likes to bake and cook a lot.”

That was an absolute bucket load of information and Riku felt his mind overheating as he tried to process it all. Some of it seemed obvious — his Kingstagram photo was proof of a life in the sun. The baking and cooking was… cute.  _ Adorable,  _ even. He wondered if Sora wore an apron, or if he was a clumsy cook.

Riku side-eyed Roxas. “And what’re you going to tell him about me?”

Roxas slurped obnoxiously loud. “That’s for you to find out later. Next question.”

Riku asked it slowly. “What’s… his type?”

Roxas snorted. “If he wasn’t interested I would’ve already told it to you straight. But lucky you, you’re  _ right  _ in his strike zone.”

_ Oh,  _ Riku thought, coloring prettily. What about Riku would Sora like? His looks? His music tastes? The way he dressed?

But Roxas was watching, looking smug, so Riku shook it off to ponder later. “Great,” he managed, throat dry. Next question, what could be the best one to ask?

“...why did he start the show?” 

At that, Roxas’ face immediately hardened, all prior amusement dropping. He gave one last pull and set the empty drink down on the table. “You know, maybe that one should wait for in person. I’m sure you don’t want him hearing about why  _ you  _ listen to it from someone else, right?”

He was right. It felt too personal, too close to who Riku was as a person. Not that he loved listening to Sora so much but why’d ever been in a place to need it so badly. Riku nodded slowly, and Roxas grabbed his paperwork while digging his wallet out of a school bag Riku hadn’t even noticed sitting by his legs. “Now go do whatever you miserable grad students do and maybe order me something while you go out?”

It wasn’t phrased as a request but Riku laughed anyways. He stood up and ruffled Roxas’ blond hair, just to make him splutter in indignation. “It’ll be on me. Your eyebags have bags, you know.”

“If you’re so concerned, do my homework for me,” Roxas sneered, but he colored and looked down anyways. “Fine, do whatever you want.”

Riku collected his things, waving as he left. “I’m ordering you something healthy!” He said over his shoulder.

“Fuck you!” Roxas snapped back, and Riku laughed as he ducked into the cafe. He was so focused on the menu board hovering over the cashiers that he didn’t even notice the unruly brown hair hair passing him by, normally eye-catching sleeveless crop top hoodie subdued in the dim cafe lighting. He caught a whiff of oranges and honey trailing, but dismissed it as someone’s tea or meal, navigating the crowded tables and chairs to stand in line. 

He’d text Roxas his order number and leave, he figured, and just to be an asshole Riku ordered him carrot soup alongside his sandwich. 

 

* * *

 

Back in his cozy apartment that evening, Riku went through the routine of getting rid of his trappings and dressing down. His wall of windows was fogged with the influx of hot humidity and his A.C. kicking on while he’d been out, and while he powered it off he still elected to just relax in sweatpants, lazily cooking one of his meals and forcing himself to go through some reading for class.

He’d barely cleaned everything up and did a cursory sweep of his floor when his phone dinged. Resting the handle of the broom against his shoulder, Riku dug his phone out of his pocket where it’d been threatening to drag down his pants with the sheer weight of it.

It was another text from Roxas. Cocking a brow and anticipating a scathing comment about how  _ great  _ the soup in summer had been, he opened it find a photo and an accompanying message.

_ Roxas: He finally saw your comment and made this face _

The photo was of Sora sitting somewhere Riku couldn’t recognize, that same hoodie on with his headphones tucked around his neck.

And he was  _ pouting. _

Completely and utterly pouting, cheeks puffed and lip pushed out and  _ everything.  _ Riku didn’t even register the noisy clatter of the broom falling as he gaped, staring.

Sora’s cheeks were rosy and he was pouting and he was making that face because of  _ Riku.  _ He could possibly die right then with no regrets. Unbidden, he moved to save the photo, thumb hovering over the options that flew up.

_ Set as wallpaper? _

_ Yes / Cancel _

As he hesitated, a notification from Kingstagram dropped down, arresting Riku’s attention with Sora’s profile.

_ >> Their rlly cool actually :T _

_ Set as wallpaper? _

**_Yes_ ** _ / Cancel _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sora, before he actually read Riku's comment: oh my gosh the guy with the gorgeous eyes replied to me! He's following me! He said— **oh.**
> 
> Bun drew this gorgeous fantastic art!!!!! I'm stunned and endeared (gosh that pouting Sora!!!) If you enjoy it let him know please! ♥
>
>> Getting used to new this new pen nib, having a terrible time LOL but [@_oathbreaker](https://twitter.com/_oathbreaker?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw)'s fic said rikuroku friendship and crop top sora rights so [pic.twitter.com/y56JuirQmy](https://t.co/y56JuirQmy)
>> 
>> — 👁🗨👁🗨👁🗨👁🗨 (@ParasiticBun) [December 5, 2019](https://twitter.com/ParasiticBun/status/1202425621416042496?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw)

**Author's Note:**

> twitter | _oathbreaker
> 
> I should've just written this all in one go, but longform fic is fun! Theme for this fic is "SLOW DANCING IN THE DARK" - Joji


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